High Fidelity
by asimplesmile
Summary: Not every story has a happy ending like a storybook. Nor does it's characters relationships fit like a glove.


'High Fidelity'

**H**eroes

**i**nvolved

**g**etting

**h**elp

**F**ind

**i**ndifferent

**d**isposed

**e**gomaniac

**l**ove

**i**n

**t**heir

**y**outh

Prologue

Under the Crescent Moon

Numbuh 1 sighed. It was half past eight o'clock, and he was already late for his bedtime, the temple on his pale, bald head holding a pair of glasses as he bit the end of a pink, number two eraser. His hazel, tedious eyes panned to the plans that laid before him, brilliant in it's malevolent display of flawless organization, the emblem of Father's figure burned into the blue print paper that a flushed gray, sweaty pair of fingers held gingerly.

Glancing over the prints of the next, highly devious performance of the dark figure known as Father, and his gleaming, perfect children along side him in their hollow, distant look, Nigel gripped the pencil's eraser with his teeth, sliding off the discretely camouflage wrapper from the camera joint. A small, light beep sounded, the button located near bold black writing on a chewed, tool pencil could barely be seen, Numbuh 1's thumb sliding over it casually as he snapped the first shot, the a second to insure a good measure of the plans outlook.

Spitting it out onto the cold, crone floor, he set it down with a solemn, calm expression as he set it down on the red velvet pillow lined with gold satin, then silently perched the glass chamber over it as he slid the pencil camera into his pocket. Looking up, past the sweat that lined his forehead, over the dark, cold room that held he and a wide display of books and gadgetry, his eyes could see the sun window that had white moonlight that peeped rays through the room. A small, distant laugh could be heard echoing across the room, his head jerking to the left, the Delightful Children From down the Lane laughing in a sinister chide of unison, dull voices.

"How nice of you to join us, Nigel Uno," They spoke with an icy drawl, slowly approaching with all of their hands neatly folded behind their clad, clean clothes with a crooked smile in an opposite mannerism. Cringing slightly at their voices, he glanced back to the window, the voices continued, "But unfortunately, our butler will have to see fit for you to leave the premises…Hans?…" They all only laughed again, this time cracks starting to form around their feet, and vibrations rocking the marble classed floors as a thundered rumble became louder with each passing millisecond.

Two hands on each side of the small doorway clenched them with yellow stain fingernails, grimy, monstrous fingers breaking off the walls in a violent disarray. A roar suddenly pierced the air as an enlarged Bolshevik of a butler emerged from the shadows that cascade lazily off of his clean, black uniform that tore at the sleeves and bellbottoms. His eyes were colored with red, stringy veins, and a lather of slobber collected, along with mucus that protruded from his enlarged nostrils, on his lower lip as he stared in a hideous manner down on the small, in comparison, feeble Nigel Uno, his smile mundane to his adventurous, spirited characteristic attitude. The child only looked a small smirk into the ghastly children's eyes, his shoes tapping together once, a robust, British accent escaping his lips,

"That's awfully kind of you, Delightful Dorks," He started, the brown heels hitting against each other again, the black lenses slipping down his forehead, down to the tip of a stubby nose with his smile widening, the look on his face knowing they should be there. "But I'll show myself out!" With the last word yelling across the room as the boots activated with the last tap, a small, but powerful fire lashing out from the throttle that had rolled out of his shoes.

With a battle cry, the infamous Numbuh One let his arms fall down to his sides, the black glasses gleaming perfectly in the small strobe light that shined above, outlining the two figures clashing. It was the larger, bulkier figure that had been sent back, a surprised set of children mauled ironically by their own gluttonous guard that had failed for the short time being. Their cries of slight anguish were only dampened by the bulbous oaf's grunt, the frizzy, wiry hair pointing to the air as slowly crept up from his sprawled position on the newly made crater in the floor.

"Hans, you overzealous Neanderthal! Smush that grape against the wall! Now!" They ordered, flickering their fingers towards Numbuh 1 with obvious hatred. His clumsy, but booming voice only snarled, as foam started to pour out of the corner of his mouth, and with a slight flicker of his eyes to and fro, his hands grabbed for the bookcases that lied closest to him. With stupendous strength, the giant slams the two bookcases together, then tosses the two merged together, as if throwing a distasteful sandwich, at the KND operative who had a slight lump in his throat.

Pivoting his body back, Nigel throttled his shoes backwards in a fierce, hectic manner, the bookcases closing in quickly as he neared the wall to his estimations. With a precise notch, the child pulled up at the last second, deactivating his boots for a slight moment, his boots pushing off of the bookcase tip swiftly as he rolled into a tight ball. Red shirt sleeved arms held his legs for the backwards flip, hovering in midair as gravity pulled him down onto the marble floor. A large, hideous crash sounded, sending pieces of torn wood, jagged pane glass windows, and pages of the destroyed books raining gaily from the sky.

The gaping hole only infuriated Nigel's attacker, he growling spitefully as his beefy, sausage link legs sprinting forward to attack again, the child in aim already aware of the fleeting imbecile and his try. With a nimble push off, Numbuh 1 took to the air again, this time higher as he fluttered gracefully in front of the monstrous butler beast for a split second, then over him as he hit the floor again, this time behind the giant's back and his timing correct.

Tapping with quick speed three times, Nigel Uno repelled off the oaf's back, sending the butler flying in a clumsy, ditzy manner through the hole, and onto the wet, dew grass below. Continuing to fly through the air, the operative smiled in a gleam of victory, taking a moment to watch as the Children Down the Lane yelled in fiery disdain and frustration, then his body bulleting out of the open window into the night atmosphere.

--

"Nigel Uno, just _what _is the meaning of this…this…blasphemy!" Monty Uno sighed, rubbing his son's bag lines, which sagged below his brown eyes that tiredly blinked back at the balding, plump man. With a groan, Nigel waited until his father let go, then shrugged lazily,

"It was another late night homework deal, Dad," He said softly, wrapping an olive green book bag strap around his left shoulder, "Nothing I can't handle…"

"Well, Nigel old boy, it looks as if you need to set your priorities straight! Perhaps hanging out with your friends for countless hours should be cut down…work before play as I always say!" The middle-aged man retorted with a humble, reflective tone as he patted the yawning Nigel on the shoulder, jerking him back to reality as the bus horn sounded from the edge of their front yard. "Ah…the school bus has arrived! Alright, chop-chop, let's go Nigel, another day of school awaits you! Make your father proud!" He boasted, smiling affectingly down to his son, lightly patting him on his head as the child returned the look weakly, then opened the door with a groan,

"Will do, dad…" He mumbled, as the sunlight hit his eyes with a repulsed, bright manner. Walking the short sidewalk, his eyes picked up the anxiously awaiting Lizzie waving through the window of a locomotive-style school bus. Warily stepping onto the black rubber steps, his shoulder is immediately grabbed by the freckled hand of his red head girlfriend, who sits him quickly and in a jerk, to a green plush seat.

"Oh Nigey!" She gushes, hugging his arm in a fake, affection hold as she glares at the rest of the girls on the bus, her eyes darting invisible daggers into those that dared to glance their way. "Tell me how much my yellow polyester shirt matches my eyes!" She cooed, fluttering her fake eyelashes at her boyfriend, who just took a glance at the red-head, then sighed as he sat his chin on a thin, clammy palm. Raising her eyebrow, she grabbed the bald head of Nigel Uno, jerked it around quickly, and faced it to a few inches from her round face. "Hey! Earth to Nigey! Slap out of it!" The girl yelled, slapping the leader across the face back and forth, as she shouted the rest out louder, "I'm. Expecting. A. Compliment. From. My. _Boy_. _Friend_! Now!" Between the backhand of the slap, Numbuh One could barely make out what she ordered, nearly falling out of his seat when the bus halted for another student passenger.

"Oh…uh…wow, gee, Lizzie, your shirt _does _match your eyes…" He said, slowly sitting back on the seat as he nervously grins at her, then starts to rub the reddened cheek as the last part becomes quiet, "…Can't say I'd miss it…"


End file.
